Lord Oda's Revenge (21 page)

Kira's sword fell to the ground, and he looked at Taro, his breath ragged. He was if anything even paler now, a man made of snow. Taro saw blossoms falling, impossibly slowly, and one
of the flowers settled on Kira's forehead. He felt the benediction of the moment, and he raised his sword for the kill.

Pain exploded in Taro's stomach, and he looked down to see a dagger hilt protruding from it. Kira's arm was outstretched – he must have thrown the knife, though Taro hadn't seen him move. He stumbled, as Kira – quick as a cat – leaned down and picked up his sword. Taro just got his own blade up in time, as Kira brought his sword round in a viciously fast strike, aimed at Taro's neck. As the swords clashed together, Taro felt a tearing agony in his stomach – he was aware of the dagger falling from it, his blood rushing after it, as if to catch it. The pain was astonishing, staggering. It was a shadow that spread from the wound, enveloping him, and he was a scared child cowering inside that darkness.

He could hear his mother screaming and he blinked, realizing that Kenji Kira was no longer in front of him. Instinctively he raised his sword, two-handed, so that it was behind his head – and he felt the impact when the blow Kira had meant to decapitate him was absorbed by the blade and his jangling wrists.

He somehow turned the older man round, moving just quickly enough with his sword to defend against any lethal strikes. Then Kira ducked, spinning round as he kicked, and Taro felt his ankle give way. He crashed heavily to the ground. With an effort, he got his sword up just in time to block the next blow – but his strength was slipping away from him, and the older man's sword carried enough momentum to bite into his shoulder.

Aghast, Taro looked up at the skeletal face of Kenji Kira, contemplating the hideous idea that this might be the last thing he saw.

He was preparing to die when there was a flurry of movement
from the doorway, and a flicker as of someone moving very quickly towards Kira from behind, almost flying, and then there was a handspan of steel jutting out from the older man's chest.

Taro and Kira both stared at it, then raised their eyes to each other, their puzzled expressions mirrored for a slow instant. Blood welled in the older man's chest. He raised one hand to touch the sword that had impaled him, as if to check that it was real. He opened his mouth and let out a low groan. It was a sound like emptiness.

‘The blade is resting by your heart,' said a voice from behind Kenji Kira, and it was a voice Taro knew. ‘When I twist, you die.'

Kira's eyes opened wide, as the face that belonged to that musical voice peered over his shoulder and smiled at Taro.

Yukiko.

Taro stared at her, speechless – the girl who had been his and Hiro's friend, and who had betrayed them to Lord Oda. He felt the ground become less solid beneath him, as unreality seeped into the edges of things. What was she doing here, on this mountain? How did this young girl come to be smiling here, among so much carnage, with her sword through Lord Oda's most trusted agent?

‘Why?' said Kenji Kira, his voice full of pain and confusion. ‘You. . . said. . . you wanted the boy too.'

‘I do. But I want you first.'

‘You'll. . . die. . . for this,' said Kira.

‘No. I have the full support of the samurai,' said Yukiko. And indeed, as she said it, a man bearing Lord Oda's
mon
came into the courtyard and leaned against the wooden wall, nodding to her. ‘They follow my wishes, for my wishes are Lord Oda's.'

‘I. . . serve. . . Lord Oda.'

‘Yes. You have been loyal. But loyalty is nothing. You know that better than anyone.'

Kenji Kira opened and closed his mouth, like a carp, and with as little effect.

‘Do you know what your life cost?' said Yukiko.

‘No,' said Kira.

‘You are looking at the price, right in front of you. I told Lord Oda I would give him Taro, and the other ninjas in Lord Tokugawa's employ, if he gave me your life. He agreed.'

Taro was looking into Kenji Kira's eyes, and the horror and disappointment he saw in them made him feel something he never thought he would feel. He felt sorry for the man. ‘Yukiko,' he said. ‘Wait.' He struggled to his feet, but the samurai behind her drew his sword, with a faint
swish.
He moved to face Taro, his stance saying that if Taro tried to help Kira, he would have to deal with the samurai first. Not that Taro would try any such thing – he knew that for Yukiko to kill the man was a matter of a movement of the wrist, something he would be powerless to stop.

‘No,' said the girl. ‘He dies now.' The shining steel tip that protruded from Kira's chest moved a little as she spoke, and he screamed. ‘But listen carefully, Kenji Kira. I want you to approach the River of Three Crossings knowing the person who killed you, and why.'

‘Tell. . . me.'

‘You killed my sister, Kenji Kira. Her name was Heiko. You beheaded her on a dusty road, next to a cart. And you killed the woman I called mother. She was a prophetess.'

‘Ah,' said Kenji Kira, a measure of resignation in his voice.

‘So. When the demons ask who killed you, say that it was a girl named Yukiko. They will have heard my name from other dead lips, I think.'

‘Yukiko,' said Taro. ‘You don't have to do this.'

‘Yes, I do,' said Yukiko. She moved the blade again, just a fraction, and Kira blanched. ‘But there's just one more thing, Kenji Kira. Your body. I ought to tell you what I plan to do with it.'

The man's eyes twisted from side to side, frantic, and Taro frowned. What was this? Kenji Kira looked more scared now than he had when he saw the blade sticking out of his flesh.

‘Know this,' said Yukiko. ‘Your corpse will be taken from here by the samurai and thrown into the river by Lord Oda's castle, where the
eta
rinse the piss from their hides. You will be eaten by fish and snails. Worms will feed on your flesh and then grow wings, and they will fly away with you in all directions, such that none will ever find you.'

Kenji Kira opened his mouth wide and uttered a scream that chilled Taro's blood, a long wail like that of a baby, a wordless death poem.

‘Enough,' said Yukiko, and twisted the blade hard. The scream was cut off instantly. Then she withdrew the sword in a smooth, wet motion, and blood burst forth from Kenji Kira, as he pitched forward to crumple on the ground, dead.

 

S
HUSAKU WAS NEARLY
at the coast again – had nearly reached the safety of Lord Tokugawa's pirate ship – when he heard the blackness around him open up in a chorus of thunder, a sound like the sky tearing apart. He had heard that sound before. It was the sound of guns.

He turned, confused. He was sure he was heading east, towards the sea – he had retraced his steps carefully – yet the gunfire did not come from behind him. He was certain it was coming from the north, from the direction of Mount Hiei.

There is a battle,
he thought.
And it is not the Ikko-ikki who are being attacked.

He stood for a moment, listening to the guns. There were more than he had ever heard before; an impossible number, the guns firing non-stop. He didn't understand how it was possible. Lord Tokugawa had mentioned nothing about an assault on Mount Hiei, though he knew that, like the Ikko-ikki, the monks of the holy mountain were hated by the daimyo for their power and their influence.

It must be Lord Oda,
he thought. Certainly Shusaku had encountered fewer samurai guards on his way than he had expected.
He's attacking Mount Hiei. But why?

Something about this troubled him. For many years he had relied on his instincts to keep him alive – and his instincts told him there was something strange about this battle he could hear. What could possibly make anyone suddenly attack the Tendai monks? They were fierce warriors, and there were ten thousand of them. A commander would have to be very sure of victory, or the prize would have to be worth the expenditure of many lives.

He paused. The prize. It couldn't be –

No. He had been on the verge of drawing a ludicrous conclusion – something he had avoided for as long as he had followed his instincts, because unjustified conclusions were just as likely to get you killed. He had been thinking – stupid, he knew – that Taro might be there. That a boy who would be shogun was a prize worth having, even if it meant going through the Tendai monks to get to him.

But no, it was preposterous. Taro was at the ninja mountain, and he was safe.

He told himself that, again and again, like a mantra.

As the guns continued to fire, he shrugged and continued on his way. Lord Tokugawa had instructed him to return immediately to the ship – he wished to sail on to Shirahama, he said. That was where Shusaku had first met Taro, so long ago it seemed now. It was also where Lord Tokugawa believed the Buddha ball to be – and he had made it clear that retrieving the ball was his next and most important goal.
It isn't real,
Shusaku had wanted to say.
It can't be.

But he had a horrible feeling it was.

 

T
ARO STOOD
,
SPEECHLESS
, looking into the smiling face of Yukiko. Pain throbbed in his stomach and his ankle, and blood dripped from his dagger wound to the ground.

Yukiko wiped Kenji Kira's blood from the blade of her sword on the sleeve of her kimono. She put one foot on the dead man's throat, then spat on his corpse.

‘When I met him, I thought that I would kill him straightaway,' she said. ‘But then I reminded myself that pleasures can be increased by patience.' She moved lightly towards Taro. ‘What better than to use him to get to you? Then I could kill him, and destroy you.'

Taro gripped his sword, holding his ground. ‘You'd really kill me?'

‘I didn't say I was going to kill you,' said Yukiko. ‘I said I was going to destroy you.'

‘Your sister was my friend. I didn't mean for her to die.'

‘No. But you let it happen. And you conspired with Oda's daughter. You are a traitor through and through!'

‘No!' said Taro, shocked. ‘It's you who's the traitor.'

Yukiko laughed, a delicate sound like a small prayer bell. ‘I am a traitor, yes. But I know it at least. That makes me
less dangerous than you.'

Taro trembled. Deep down he had always feared that although he might not wish it, his actions, even his mere existence, seemed to lead to the deaths of others. Ever since Shusaku had rescued him, that night that seemed so long ago, he had done nothing but sow seeds of murder around him, and the deaths that had grown from those seeds had threatened to overwhelm him, cutting off his light. The fortune-teller who had raised Yukiko and her sister Heiko, then Heiko herself, then Shusaku. . .

‘See?' said Yukiko. ‘You know I'm right. You're a poison, Taro.' She came at him then, and as she brought her sword round in an arc, she whipped a smaller
wakizashi
from her kimono with her other hand, and then she was attacking furiously, with both blades – no longer a girl but an infernal device, whirling sharp and fast.

Taro raised his sword and darted towards her, working to hold off the girl's attacks. He had never seen anyone fight with two swords before, had been completely unprepared for it. Yukiko was grinning. ‘I had this idea from Miyamoto Musashi,' she said, not even out of breath. She danced away from him for a moment, holding his eyes with hers. ‘A sword saint defeated long ago by Lord Oda. But he wrote a book, and in that book he said something very interesting.'

‘What was that?' said Taro, concentrating on centring his breathing, gathering his
qi
. His movements were still slowed by the wound in his stomach, though it was healing already. He could feel the muscle knitting back together, hot needles clicking in his flesh.

‘He said that a man could spend his life mastering the blade, but he'd never be as good as the man who spent one day mastering
two
blades.'